Lying, thinking
Last night
How to find my soul a home
Where water is not thirsty
And bread loaf is not stone

A free bird leaps
on the back of the wind
and floats downstream
till the current ends
and dips his wing

They went home and told their wive
that never once in all their lives
had they known a girl like me,
But... They went home.
They said my house was licking cle

FOR DAVID P—B
The eye follows, the land
Slips upward, creases down, forms
The gentle buttocks of a young
Giant. In the nestle,

Soft grey ghosts crawl up my sleev
to peer into my eyes
while I within deny their threats
and answer them with lies.
Mushlike memories perform

We, unaccustomed to courage
exiles from delight
live coiled in shells of lonelines
until love leaves its high holy te
and comes into our sight

Your skin like dawn
Mine like musk
One paints the beginning
of a certain end.
The other, the end of a

Give me your hand
Make room for me
to lead and follow
you
beyond this rage of poetry.

I keep on dying again.
Veins collapse, opening like the
Small fists of sleeping
Children.
Memory of old tombs,

You drink a bitter draught.
I sip the tears your eyes fight to
A cup of lees, of henbane steeped
Your breast is hot,
Your anger black and cold,